


The Harpy Bride

by thecountessolivia



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Animal Harm, Face eating, Genital Mutilation, Harpybal Hannibal, Monster bride, Not the good kind, Other, Self-Cannibalism, Sex with humanoid monsters, Sexy egg laying, Torture, Until the surprisingly fluffy ending, prometheus myth, this is not a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2020-10-30 02:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecountessolivia/pseuds/thecountessolivia
Summary: Having offended the Gods, Will is suspended from a cliff for all eternity. A creature called Hannibal is his punishment.Inspired byFlyingRotten'sHarpybal. Now with beautiful art byTenderKink.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlyingRotten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingRotten/gifts).

Upon that barren summit, where the cruel winds danced and howled, the priests of the high temple stripped Will bare and locked chains about his wrists and ankles. He was to be hung from the face of the cliff to await his punishment from the Gods.

The head priest unfurled his scroll and read.

"Will of Wolf Trap," he said in a voice as dull as the sky, "you have offended the Gods. You have stolen from them a forbidden art. You have sought to show mortals how to feel as others feel, to see how others see and to think how others think. Such clairvoyance is the preserve of the Gods alone. The Gods—"

Will jerked against his chains and spat towards the crowd that had huddled on the cliff to gawk. "You are all fools. You're throwing away the only gift that could save you all."

The shrill voice of some minor cleric rose from the back. "Heretic! Why would you wish us to feel the pain of another? We all have enough pain of our own. You deserve your wretched fate." The crowd echoed his diatribe with angry murmurs of approval.

"The Gods in their grace have seen it fit to punish you," the head priest went on. "You are to be hung from the cliff to face their wrath for all eternity.”

The priest pointed his staff over the edge of the cliff, across the roiling waves that crashed far below, over the sea, to the shrouded peeks of the Great Mountain. All the Gods resided there forever.

Four soldiers grasped Will's chains and, though he fought and kicked, soon began to lower him down until he had no leverage, no hope, and hung suspended over the edge of the bluff.

The crowd vanished from his sight. He could still hear them from above, hammering into the rock the iron pegs that would keep his chains in place.

"Gaze upon Their wrath and Their glory," Will heard the priest say. "Your punishment comes tonight."

Then all departed. Will was left with only the howling wind, the roar of the ocean, the fear in his heart and the agony of his naked body.

\---

The winds battered and burned his flesh. His feet, swung hundreds of feet above the water, grew icy but refused to numb.

Perhaps the pegs holding the chains in place would give and he would fall. Perhaps he would succumb overnight to shock or exposure. Or, in some days, to thirst or hunger. But to whom could Will direct such hopes and prayers for a swift death? Even as they watched him from across the sea, the Gods forsook him. He had offended their pride.

Time crept by, or vanished altogether. No merciful swoon into unconsciousness visited Will. Every joint in his body cried ceaselessly with twisting pain, every inch of him recoiled at the elements' assault. And yet for all his agony, the ache he felt most keenly was the ache of having been abandoned.

Dusk fell over the sea, and the clouds swelled a bloody red. A sound reached Will's ears, an unmistakable sound: the slow beating of enormous wings. A great shadow passed over his head and further shrouded the darkening sky.

If terror had not consumed Will before, it had now. He jerked and flailed helplessly in his iron bonds, tried to find purchase for his dangling feet. All in vain.

Only one creature, Will knew, haunted these cliffs and everything that dared to live here.

He knew his punishment had come.

\---

Generations had told tales of its sightings.

It had three heads, many said. It had a dragon's tail full of poison, claimed others. It feasted only on hearts, human and animal, some still would say. It fashioned elaborate displays of the carrion it had ravaged with its appetites.

Will didn't believe the stories. But he believed that the beast existed, for he knew the nature of Gods — and it was the Gods' great pleasure to create monsters.

The wings kept circling above, beating like massive sails in a storm. Will couldn't twist his head up to look. When the sound came closer, he followed it to his side instead, and saw nearby a wide rocky ledge. For a moment, he glimpsed the ragged shadow of huge talons and then the creature landed.

Will's breath shook with fear, and yet he couldn't look away from the enormous bird of prey with the head of a man.

Hannibal.

It perched, perfectly still, for a long moment. The wind moved through its silver-brown feathers. Its eyes, red as the sky, fixed on Will.

Its head craned forward.

Through the aid of some ancient instinct, Will forced his shivering down and tried to keep still.

It was no use. The vast wings unfolded, though didn't soar. One bird leg extended, then the other, and with the aid of its talons the creature began to crawl slowly along the cliff, towards Will's suspended body. It made no sound. Its eyes didn't relent as it approached.

It came close, so close. Its breath rushed over Will's body and it was the first warmth he'd felt since being hung above the waves.

Will had nothing to shield himself from the scrutiny and its brutal intent. Not a scrap of cloth, no weapon or curse. But he had words. And words, Will knew, could strike like blades.

"Do what you must," he said, though he couldn't hear himself above the roar of his own fear. "It's not like you have a choice. We're both mere puppets for the Gods' amusement."

Hannibal's head craned to the side again. Did the creature understand? Something twitched in the features of its human face, hard as the cliff. It inhaled deeply, then curled back its upper lip to reveal its teeth, human but sharp, so sharp. It leaned in closer yet, like a lover straining for a kiss.

And then it bit.

It tore off Will's cheek first.

And Will screamed and pleaded and howled and heard his agony over the wind and the sea, even while the masticating human mouth of the hungry creature tore out and chewed and swallowed his tongue and then clawed out and feasted, one by one, on his eyes.

He had no face. He had no language. He had only primal screams that poured out of him and over the deaf ears of Nature. The winds beat against the bare bone of his jaw.

The night had fallen and Hannibal had taken his face and left him.

\---  
  
Light. Dawn. But how did he know that day had come? Had the creature not taken his eyes? He felt the creak of his jaw and the slab of his tongue trapped within it. Had Hannibal not feasted on it? His teeth were once more cushioned on the flesh of his cheeks. 

His eyelids twitched, then lifted. He beheld with his own eyes the cold grey morning hovering above the crashing waves. Had he dreamt the winged creature then? Had it all been a cruel hallucination?

No. For Will knew the Gods well. The true nature of his eternal torment rose with the dawn and ceased his heart with terror.

Hannibal had come and feasted. The Gods restored the bounty of Will's flesh. And Hannibal would come again.

\---  
  
Perhaps he'd go mad from the constant pain and fear of what was to come. Might not he be granted even that much mercy? Will mouthed his bootless prayers into the winds that blew across the sea, towards the Great Mountain where the Gods dwelled forever.

He listened to the cries of Nature along the cliffs and down below: the screech of seabirds, the grunts of seals, the slapping of fish bodies against the icy water. The music of hunger and want, of battle and strife. And he felt in his heart a communion with the suffering of every living being. This was the essence of the gift for which he was punished.

The second day of his torment marched on. A new sound reached his ears. Wings again — but smaller ones, and in multitude. Soon Will saw the shapes that emerged from the sea mist and began to circle near: vultures.

He whimpered and shook his head. Had he not suffered enough? Was he yet to be food for any beast that would have him? The birds swooped closer. Their leader rose up above the rest, then made its dive for Will's suspended body.

Will never saw or felt it strike. He heard a terrified cry from a dozen bird throats, as desperate as any sound Will's own throat had produced. The frantic flap of smaller wings as they tried to make their escape.

Hannibal. Hannibal, out of the mist and descending against the crimson sky, clawing vulture bellies open in midair, catching scraps of their shredded entrails and flesh in its sharp mouth while the remnants of their black feathered bodies plummeted down, turning to specks that soon vanished in the waves.

The last of its victim-foes dispensed with, the creature landed on its rocky ledge, as it had the night before. It watched Will, perfectly still, as it had the night before. Its talons and mouth were red with the blood of vultures.

Will panted through his ceaseless dread of the agony soon to come. He shut his eyes while he still had them. When he dared open them again, Hannibal was gone.

Whatever flicker of hope may have visited Will in that instant was soon dispelled. Before long, the beating of great wings reached him again. This time, he couldn't see their monstrous owner. Hannibal circled near, above, out of his sight.

Nearer still, until Will could feel the breeze of those wings and smell of vulture blood.

Sudden warmth and dark engulfed him as something fell over his head. He jerked against his chains, startled. The movement of his body sent the strange, soft thing sliding down, over his neck. He could see again, and he looked down over his body — it was no longer naked, but covered to its feet by a thick fur-trimmed cloak. The soft brown leather that had wrapped around Will's frozen skin was spattered with blood.

For the first time since the priests abandoned him to the mercy of the Gods, Will's eyes swelled with tears. He turned his head and saw the great human-headed bird nearby, hooked into the cliff face, watching him as before. It had landed there silently, having draped Will in the finery of the cloak.

"Thank you," Will whispered shakily.

A moment passed. Hannibal's mouth and throat moved. Its eyes were red and bright and, Will thought, oddly curious. It shuffled closer, as if to examine the wind-chilled tears streaming down Will's face.

For an instant, Will thought it might speak.

Then its upper lip curled. The sharp teeth glinted and bit. Savage and fast, tearing and snapping, taking it all, cheeks, lips, tongue, nose, eyes and the gulps as it chewed and swallowed were the most abhorrent of all.

Will wailed — all in vain. Hannibal feasted once more on his face — and on his tears.

[](https://ibb.co/hKkqH9L)


	2. Chapter 2

Night after night Will bled. His blood ran down and stained his cloak, but its thick folds kept him warm and shielded him from smaller predators that would have his flesh.

The lesser agonies of cold and unexpected attack were banished at Hannibal's intervention. In his few fleeting moments of clarity, when desperation wasn't eating away at his mind, Will wondered what the Gods made of such an alteration to his fate, and whether they had sanctioned it. He thought not. For now, all his suffering belonged to Hannibal alone.

All, but this: Will's hunger and thirst grew with every passing day.

His belly sunk into his ribs and spasmed with pangs of want. With his mouth parched and his throat coarse as grit, even words, his last and only weapon, threatened to abandon him.

Another evening came. Hannibal soared out of the sea mist and sat on its ledge. Will turned towards it weakly and mustered what was left of his voice.

"Why do you only take my face?" he asked. "There is so much more of me to eat. I have a belly full of organs and entrails. Meat on my flank and thighs. Do you only take what the Gods allow you?"

The silver and brown feathers on Hannibal's chest seemed to ruffle. Its head dropped, and its stare took on an intensity Will hadn't seen before. It didn't move from its perch. Will thought he saw the makings of a snarl curl its lips, and he knew he had been understood.

Though his throat felt as if it might bleed, Will spat more words out. He had to seize this chance.

"I was right, wasn't I? You don't have a choice. You eat only what They let you, and when you leave here you're still famished. You're as starved as I am, aren't you, Hannibal? Maybe more—"

A wretched cough seized him and he could speak no more.

For the first time, Hannibal turned away from him. Will saw its human face in profile, with that bright, red stare fixed across the water and on the jagged, mist-steeped peaks of the Great Mountain. Its talons gripped the rocky ledge.

It was only an instant. For then the talons scraped and scurried across the cliff, quicker than ever, and those sharp teeth snapped again at their permitted meal.

\---

Another day went by. Words had left Will. His thirst and hunger multiplied, one engulfing the other by turns.

No madness came to relieve him. Death seemed very far away. Will stared across the violent sea and mouthed his silent curses at the Gods.

The evening arrived and the now-familiar shape approached from the mists.

Something altered its dark silhouette. Something dangled from its talons. Will feared some fresh punishment for speaking as he spoke the night more — until Hannibal approached.

Could it be? Was it full? Where had it come from, the same victim as Will's cloak? Hannibal circled closer and Will saw, unmistakable now, the water-swollen belly of a leather drinking pouch.

He began to shake — not with terror or pain, but with silent laughter. He pried open his parched lips and mouthed a single word: _please. Please._

Hannibal suspended itself above, precariously hovering in the battering winds. For a moment, it seemed to hesitate. And then, with surprising finesse, its talons flicked open the vessel and cool fresh water poured itself over Will's wind-battered face and into the wailing well of his thirst.

The laughter that still shook his body was something close to madness. He drank and drank, and nearly choked, and knew even in that moment that nothing would keep Hannibal from his nightly feast.

\---

"Have your words returned to you?"

Will cried out, startled. The voice, unmistakably human, had come from nearby.

A dream? But Will didn't dream out here. It was dawn, but still dark. He blinked through his newly made eyelids, heavy with the false sleep of the tortured. He turned his head in the direction of the voice and saw the dark outline of a familiar shape. The winged tormentor of the Gods had indeed spoken.

Will nodded once in reply to the question it had posed.

"Why are you here?" he rasped. "Did you forget something last night? A piece of cheek or tongue maybe?"

The feathered shape shifted slightly and Will thought it heard on its exhalation something like amusement.

"Tell me your name, human."

In a trembling voice, Will told him.

"Tell me, Will of Wolf Trap: what did you steal from the Gods?"

"Didn't They tell you before They sent you to torture me?"

Once more the shape shifted, but no answer followed. The sun was rising slowly over the cliffs and glinting crimson in its silver flight feathers.

"You seem to have a remarkable insight into the pains and predicaments of others," Hannibal said. "I suspect it is for this that the Gods saw fit to abandon you here."

Will's face spasmed into a bitter smile. "I'm not abandoned. You're here, aren't you?"

Again, Hannibal said nothing. Its face came into the rising red light, the human bones of it sharp as its teeth. It stared at Will. It? Perhaps he, after all. Its man's face spoke with a low masculine voice.

"How hungry are you right now, Hannibal?" Will asked. "Does it feel like agony? Or merely like despair?"

Hannibal stepped off his ledge and strapped his talons to the rock. Will recoiled and trembled at his approach, as he always did. But no sharp teeth snapped at Will's flesh, no snarl curled Hannibal's lip. Instead, he swung one leg over Will and hemmed him against the cliff. Will couldn't move for the shielding closeness of that warm feathered body, and for the first time since his punishment began, he was perfectly still, no longer swung like a wretched pendulum on his chains.

Hannibal leaned in close and whispered in his ear.

"How right you are, my lovely human. It is true that I cannot eat you up. I cannot be sated. Your perceptive eyes and your wise tongue give me but the hope of satisfaction. And I am soon famished again."

Will felt sick with dread, but couldn't look away from the intensity of that crimson gaze, so close to his own. "Is it worse to have some sustenance than to have none at all?" he asked.

"You know it is," Hannibal said through sharp and gritted teeth."Your flesh is the false hope that my hunger will end. That, Will of Wolf Trap, is the nature of my curse."

It seemed to Will that nothing existed except those staring eyes, holding him to the cliff more firmly than his chains or the proximity of Hannibal's animal body. He saw that intensity for what it was: desperation, no different from his own.

"You say you are cursed," he whispered. "What is the difference between a punishment and a curse?"

"Punishments are often just. Curses are usually petty. Do you accept the justice of what has been done to you?"

Will didn't. He thought of the silent hate he'd flung across the sea, towards the mountain of the Gods. He shook his head.

"If we are conjoined by a curse," Will said, "then we are fortunate. All curses can be broken."

"Indeed they can be, lovely human. Would you like to know how ours ends?"

Will's heart beat faster, for once not with fear. He nodded.

Hannibal leaned in closer still and whispered, softly as if the wind might eavesdrop on them and carry his words to the Gods.

"You must eat of your flesh and be my bride."

Will barely heard the meaning of those dreadful words. At their sound, desperation became hope and rushed through Will's veins like a heady drug that sent his heart pounding. He could be free of his chains, of the lashing sea winds. He could have Hannibal break him loose, then find a way to escape—

"Yes," he rasped, almost at once.

"Swear it," Hannibal hissed.

Will knew Hannibal felt as he felt. Hope was indeed a potent drug. He nodded furiously, almost giddy with the promise of freedom. "I swear it. I _swear it_. I will eat of my flesh. And I'll be your bride."

"Forever?"

"Forever."

Hannibal spread his wings out, magnificent in silvers and iridescent reds and browns. He beat them once, as if in triumph, then seemed to brace himself closer against Will's body.

"Close your eyes now, Will," he said. "Keep them closed."

Will shut his eyes on command. He began to tremble again, more so when he felt a single talon begin to rip and rend the leather of the cloak. Though no cold winds assaulted him, he felt more exposed than he ever had before. The soft feathers of Hannibal's belly tickled his bare skin. He felt Hannibal move down the length of his body.

"What will you, what—"

"Promise not to open your eyes, Will."

Lower still, that soft feathered shape. Slithering down, talons hooking into the rock either side of Will's body, stalked by the warmth of Hannibal's breath until—

Will jerked against the chains and against the creature that held him fast. Panic, pure panic unlike any he'd yet felt, claimed every frayed nerve in his body.

The wet warmth of Hannibal's breath had opened over the whole of his wind-shrivelled sex.

He tried to kick. He screamed louder than the waves, the winds, louder than any wretched creature condemned to this world.

"No! Not this, you never said— Please! _Gods_—"

That deadly mouth pulled back, only for a moment.

"Don't plead with the Gods, Will. They have scorned both our fates. Flesh is but flesh. And you must be so hungry."

And then Hannibal's sharp teeth snapped once and pulled and ripped.

Will howled and wept and flailed. Blood seeped down his thighs and pain screamed through his belly. He couldn't, wouldn't look.

That warm breath was at his lips again, warm with his own blood. Will heard those jaws masticating slowly on their awful mouthful. He heard a single hard swallow, and he whined.

Hannibal spoke: "Only a morsel of it left in my mouth, Will. Eat your flesh from my lips, and your chains will come free. Our nightly suppers end. And I will take you from this place forever."

Will shook with the shock and horror of it. But hope was too potent a drug. What use was it resisting its call? What did it matter now that'd been mutilated beyond repair? Perhaps once the curse was broken, a different freedom would come for him and he'd bleed out or fall to his merciful end.

He strained his head forward and parted his lips to meet Hannibal's own. He took the remnants of his dead sex from Hannibal's warm tongue. 

He wept as he swallowed.

A sound rang out, like a dull bell — a talon struck a chain. Then it struck thrice more.

Will saw the whole of the bright dawn, then the sea, then dawn again. He was plummeting, twisting through the air spattered with his gushing blood. Death at least, he thought, but it wasn't the waves that caught Will's tormented body. It was feathers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but this actually has a happy ending. Weird, sexy, happy ending.


	3. Chapter 3

He came to with a scream and found himself immersed in a flickering near-darkness. He tried to grope for his face but the muscles in his arms failed him, weak from pain and disuse.

He recalled tumbling onto Hannibal's outstretched wings, wet and salty with sea spray and Will's blood. He remembered gripping on, though he had wished for the waves to swallow him up. The rest was given over to the mercy of a dreamless swoon.

He blinked and let his eyes adjust to the low light. His tongue moved in his mouth and felt about for his cheeks: so his face, at least, had remained unscathed.

He couldn't lift himself, so he craned his head up. His limbs, useless and limp, had been flung onto a stack of soft thick furs. The sharp and tender aches of his punishment — rock-bruised skin, twisted joints — all dulled in comparison to the searing pool of pain just below his belly. A blanket had been draped there, sparing him the gruesome sight of its source.

By the light of a dozen oil lamps, Will saw that he'd been delivered into a vast cave. Somewhere in the distance, the murk gave way to the light of day: the cave's entrance. Other objects took shape about Will, objects that he soon recognised as distinctly human furnishings: bowls and cups, books and rugs, and even something that resembled a table fashioned from deer antlers and wood.

"Try not to sit up."

If Will could have bolted and ran at the sound of that voice, he would have. But as it were, all he could do was flinch and pinch his eyes shut. Hannibal was approaching him from the shadows in slow marching steps, sharp talons clacking against the cave floor.

Will trembled. His breath was leaving him in shallow bursts. Now that he was no longer chained, he looked about for anything to defend himself with, something more than words. That failing, he tried to lift himself up and shuffle back against the wall of the cave, but his arms disobeyed him again.

"Despite my best efforts, you have lost a great deal of blood," Hannibal said. His face loomed close, sharp and solemn. His wings, neatly folded back, glinted a smooth gold by the light of the lamps.

"Aren't you going to—"

"Take more from you?" Hannibal's voice was low and calm. "No, Will. You have paid for your crimes and for the oath you made to me. Thanks to your sacrifice, other bodies can now sate me."

Will shivered at those words, and what they meant in practice. Still, he wanted to believe them. Beside his bed of furs, he saw a small copper bowl. Hannibal dipped a talon into the bowl and stirred its contents. A sweet herbal scent filled the air. "Your wound needs seeing to," he said. "I believe you are not strong enough to tend to it yourself. Will you allow me?"

Will was still panting with dread, but the warmth of the furs, the soft light of the cave, Hannibal's voice — all of it reigned in his wish to flee from the presence of the creature that had taken so much from him. After a moment, he jerked his head in agreement.

"I don't want to watch," he added.

Hannibal craned his head minutely, a strangely elegant animal nod. "All right, then. Close your eyes. Please tell me if the pain is too great."

Once again, Will scrunched his eyes shut. He heard the soft rustle of a wing unfurling and the sound of the blanket being drawn back. Feathers moved over the tops of his thighs. Then something cold and oily smudged the wound.

Will's hips jerked up at the touch. He let out a long whine.

"Shh. It won't be long," Hannibal murmured.

If Hannibal meant the pain, then he was right, for it receded like a tide beneath the feathers, leaving only a cool, numbing sensation. Will's eyes fluttered open and, despite himself, he looked down. He let out another pitiful cry.

The wound gaped between his thighs, wide as Hannibal's hungry mouth, a raw and bloody void where his manhood had been.

Will's head fell back against the furs. Tears streamed down his temples and he shook with silent sobs.

"It won't grow back, will it?" he asked. "Like my face—"

Hannibal watched him for a moment with an expression that even Will's gift could not discern. He wiped the last of the salve from his feather.

"I don't believe so," he said. "Now. You must eat something."

\---

The sight of his mutilation broke something inside Will.

He slept and slept. He dreamt ceaselessly of his torments on the cliff, of his flesh ripped from him by Hannibal's sharp mouth. He woke up screaming, only find his winged tormentor beside him, now his soft-spoken and articulate carer.

In the mornings, Hannibal saw to Will's wound and urged him to eat. Despite days of ravenous hunger, Will took little from the sharp talons which carefully pressed morsels of fruit and meat against his lips.

Hannibal let him be. He left Will unattended for hours — Will's legs still disobeyed him, and so he could not flee. Each day Will watched the silver and brown wings outstretch at the mouth of the cave and soar out into the waiting sky.

At dusk Hannibal returned clasping fresh scraps of meat, already stripped beyond recognition of their previous form and ready to be seared over the cave's small fires.

In the evenings, Will watched as his deadly bridegroom scraped and washed from his talons the blood of his conquests — blood that at least wasn't Will's own. Immaculately cleaned, the winged beast used them to turn the pages of his many books. The sound of Hannibal reading softly to himself in a dim corner of his cave often carried Will to sleep.

\---

Another sunset crept in gold and red through the opening of the cave. Hannibal would not return for some time yet.

Will was strong enough now to roll himself from his bed. There was only one destination he sought: inch by inch, he shuffled on his knees towards the mouth of the cave.

He peered out and down. Icy sea winds greeted him. The smooth sheer cliff dropped hundreds of feet beneath him, towards the frothing waves below. Hannibal's dwelling must not have been far from where Will had been abandoned to his fate.

In the distance loomed the misty residence of the Gods, as aloof and silent as ever.

Rage and pain swelled Will's heart. After all that had been done to him, his only escape was death. He gripped the edge of the cave and screamed as he had screamed every time Hannibal had violated his body, screamed and flung small rocks into the winds that rushed towards the peak of the Great Mountain, the place that had seen fit to leave him in this wretched state.

He screamed, at last, at himself and for his lack of courage to fling himself down into the waiting water.

Exhausted, he dragged himself back across the cave and into the bed. The strain of his futile raging had caused the linens that Hannibal had bundled about Will's savaged loins to soak through with blood.

Will swore again and ripped them off. He stared down bitterly at his brutalised body.

The herbal poultice Hannibal applied to him each day had kept all pain at bay. But it had done little to heal the bite wound, which seemed to gape wider and deeper at the bottom of Will's belly. No corruption had set into it: it was fresh as the day it was made and caused Will no complaint.

Though he knew he shouldn't, Will reached for it with shaking fingers. He skimmed them over the now familiar opening in his body, raw and pink. He expected agony. Instead, a curious sensation shot up through his belly, novel and electric. Will snapped his hand back, as if burned.

"It's healing," he said, too loudly and quickly. "It must be."

He lay back on the furs and drew the linens and blankets back over himself.

"I'll get out of here," Will said into the emptiness of the cave. "I'll find some place that will take a eunuch."

The falsehood of the words stung his tongue. His fingers twitched at his sides and longed to touch the wound again. He gazed up at the cave's ceiling. His oath returned to him, spoken with such desperate zeal: _I will eat of my flesh. I will be your bride._

And what, Will wondered, did it mean to be Hannibal's bride?

\---

Hannibal drew back the linens from Will's wound with a careful sweep of his flight feathers.

"It's not healing," Will said.

Hannibal frowned. "I can see. How is the pain?"

_Long gone_, Will wanted to say. But if he did, then Hannibal might stop attending to him. He might no longer dabble scented mixtures over Will's wound with soft feathers and then bundle it gingerly in clean linen.

"It still hurts," he lied instead. "Can you try anything else?"

"There is another potion. It will require a deeper application into the wound. Will you permit me?"

_You always ask_, Will thought. He nodded, a strange and expectant tingle under his skin. 

Hannibal mixed a fresh salve in the copper bowl and slathered it over two feathers.

Perched on the edge of the furs, he drew the feathers over the wound, then let them dip into Will's body, down into the raw flesh blooming where Will's cock had been.

Will writhed and cried out. Hannibal drew back at once.

"Will. Pain?"

Will panted and clutched at the furs. He stared up at Hannibal, at the sharp and intense features of his face, at the soft feathered body. He nodded.

But no. There hadn't been any pain.

\---

Another morning came. Another bundle of linen was peeled gently back from between Will's thighs.

"Still no better?" Hannibal asked.

Will licked at his lips. They tasted of the honeyed goat milk Hannibal had fed him for breakfast. "No."

Hannibal strode across the cave and returned with a slim amphora tucked under his wing. "I'd like us to try this today instead," he said. "I believe you are strong enough to attempt the application yourself. Will you do that for me, Will?"

Will reached into the jug with a hesitant hand. The oily mixture inside was spicy and faintly warming.

"Try using three fingers," Hannibal said, eyes bright. "Be thorough."  
  
They watched each other for a moment. Will licked his lips again and lifted himself up on both elbows. He reached for the gaping wound. He drew his fingers around its ragged edge and held his breath, lest it betray him.

A sweet tension clenched his thighs. His belly seemed to flood with honey. He watched his fingers, slick and bloodied, circle slowly about the surface of the wound. He couldn't pull them away. Where they once would have grasped the girth of his cock, now all they wanted was to sink inside.

"How does it feel?" Hannibal asked him.

Will let his fingertips dip into his flesh. A spasm passed through his belly, a little cresting wave of sweet feeling. Should he feign pain again? Or admit to what had taken hold of him?

"I cannot describe it," he replied sincerely, and then his words dissolved into a moan as his fingers stroked in again.

Hannibal drew closer, talons sinking into the bed of furs. He unfurled his wings and curved them forward. He slid them beneath Will's legs.

Will gasped as his thighs were drawn apart.

By the light of the oil lamps, Hannibal's eyelids were dreamy, heavy, fixed on Will. Silken flight feathers stroked the bottoms of Will's thighs and tickled the crease of his ass. Hannibal's mouth was parted. Will saw the barest glint of sharp teeth.

"I asked you to be thorough, Will," he murmured. "Or else you will never heal. Use your fingers. Go inside."

"Please, I—"

Hannibal loomed closer: so warm, that feathered body, so near to the raw and deep opening he had made inside Will.

"Do as I say," he said softly. "Be a good bride."

\---

Will had obeyed, that morning and every morning after.

At Hannibal's murmured urging, under Hannibal's bright gaze, Will tended each day to the wound-hole in his body. Fragrant oils and potions, clasped in Hannibal's talons, poured from above to slick Will's fingers and ease his dive into the storms of untold pleasure waiting for him inside. 

The wound never healed. It grew deeper, the skin around it more pink and sensitive, and silken as bloody petals. One day, Will discovered that by contracting his belly, he could clench it closed. He couldn't wait to show Hannibal.

He used to dream of Hannibal's teeth between his legs, tearing at tender shreds of his flesh — now he dreamt of Hannibal's tongue lavishing licks on his lovely new hole.

\---

The day had come to complete the oath. The scent of burned incense and flowers filled the cave. Will had bathed and anointed himself with oils.

Hannibal came to him. Will tucked his legs beneath the folds of his silvery wings. His arms encircled Hannibal's neck.

Hannibal rose and lifted him with ease. He carried Will solemnly about the cave, cradled close. Will was weightless but this time, weightlessness wasn't helplessness.

"Am I ready?" Will asked. The new opening to his body had grown swollen and slick at their proximity, gaping pink and open against the soft feathers of Hannibal's belly. Will thrust his hips forward and rubbed himself against that softness until a high keening sound of want broke loose from his throat.

Hannibal drew him up higher in the fold of his wings. He nuzzled Will's cheeks and licked at Will's lips and throat. He murmured sweetly against Will's ear: "You couldn't be more ready, my lovely bride. I can feel you against me, longing to be filled."

Will's toes pinched at clumps of tiny feathers beneath Hannibal's wings. A sudden trepidation seized at his heart. "Will it hurt?"

"You've taken such care to prepare it for me, my love. You've made it so pretty, and so slick and deep. How could it hurt? Besides, see how perfect we are for each other. Look."

Will found enough space between their unmatched bodies to peer down. When he glimpsed what was waiting for him, he couldn't help a moan.

He had waited so long to see it, and now he was suspended just above it, poised to be impaled. It had protruded from among the nest of smooth silvery feathers on Hannibal's belly, shaped like a man's, but fatter, rippled along the shaft and oh so big. The fat head, large as a fist, glistened in reds and purples, and oozed with eager slickness.

Moan after pleading moan escaped Will's mouth. He pulled and tugged at Hannibal's feathers, rubbed himself faster against Hannibal's belly and tried to wriggle himself down. "Don't make me wait, please, I want it—" 

A growl cut from Hannibal's throat. A snarl curled his lips. His wings unfurled and beat the air once, twice, then slung themselves once more about Will's body — and shoved him down hard.

For an instant, breath left Will's lungs and he choked on a silent gasp. His vision dimmed at the edges. Instead of pain, a well of delirious ecstasy flung itself open where Will's cock had been. Hannibal thrust and filled it whole.

Deep. So thick and deep. Skewered and stretched and plundered, his newly prepared hole. It filled up his whole belly, it throbbed against his heart: the thick pulsing cock of the bird monster Will had wed. Hannibal fucked him and filled him and drenched the depths of him while Will screamed himself to the highest peaks of pleasure, and hoped that the Gods heard him as he came and came on Hannibal's cock.

\---

The scent of freshly seared meat stirred him from the bliss of sleep. He threw back the furs and padded over naked to Hannibal's table. He leaned against Hannibal's wing and yawned.

"What have you made for us, bridegroom?"

"A breakfast feast, my love." Hannibal kissed his hair and swept a wing about Will's body. A single feather strayed between Will's thighs and teased at the folds of warm pink flesh there, still wet. "Sore?" he asked.

Will smiled up at him and shook his head. His bridal hole had been ravaged three times that night and licked to ecstasy twice. His legs had been drenched to the feet in Hannibal's semen. Still he wanted more. There were other ways into his body, and Will wondered if he could accommodate the enormity of Hannibal in them all.

He turned to behold the spread that had been set out on the table before him: black grapes, split pomegranates and fruits of the sea, all ringed in a crown about a magnificent roast.

The roast had been presented skewered on a long golden rod. Will frowned, and leaned in closer to examine the implement. When he recognised it, his lips twisted in a grin.

It was the staff of the high priest, the same who had sent Will to his torments. And there was no mistaking what — whose — flesh it now had skewered.

"Only the best for my beloved bride," Hannibal told him.

Will plucked a sliver of priest flesh from its golden skewer and slid it into his mouth. He chewed the melting morsel slowly under the wanton intensity of Hannibal's gaze.

"This is a welcome gesture, bridegroom," Will said. "But there is something I want more."

Hannibal craned down to kiss him, deep and sweet. He drew the last bite of the meat from Will's tongue, as Will once had from his own.

"Anything, dear bride. Name it."

Will drew back and walked to the mouth of the cave. The cold sea winds greeted him there and beat at his naked body, as brutal as they had been during the days of Will's torment.  
  
Hannibal followed and draped a wing about Will's body.  
  
"Anything," he repeated.  
  
Will glared over the protective enclosure of the wing. His eyes had fixed across the sea, upon the misty and aloof peaks of the Great Mountain.  
  
"Bring me," Will said through his teeth, "the flesh of the Gods."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. Thank you for reading. 
> 
> I had some interesting discussions about Will's new physiology. Suffice it to say: please don't expect baby harpies any time soon, Will's new orifice is solely for the pleasure of Will and his feathered bridegroom. 
> 
> Though I did consider that there may be some SEXY egg laying going on. LOL. Who's going to prompt me?


	4. Chapter 4

Will, Hannibal soon discovered, was no idle-handed bride. The day after their nuptials he asked Hannibal for metal spikes and spools of strong rope, for a mallet and a barrel of lamp oil. Hannibal frowned at such a specific list of demands. Was Will planning to make an escape winch that would carry him out of the cave, down the cliff wall and away from his monstrous bridegroom forever?

But the sweet and innocent manner of Will’s request and Hannibal's own curiosity soon had him soaring into the sky in search of his loot. After fruitful raids on a blacksmith’s and a nearby fishing port, Hannibal obtained for Will what he had asked for. 

Will greeted him at the mouth of the cave with eyes as bright as his smile. "You'll see," he said, though Hannibal had asked no questions, and collected from Hannibal’s talons his mysterious supplies. 

Over the days that followed, Will hammered into the walls of the cave a network of ladders woven from rope. These he used to climb up to the cave's soaring ceiling and string it with dozens of lanterns. Like luminous fruit on drooping vines, they swung low and filled the gloom of Hannibal's home with a warm red glow. 

“The light will help with your reading,” Will said in a tone almost timid. “Or— or you can use the ropes as a perch, if you want.”

Returning to the cave from his hunts, Hannibal now had the sensation of flying into the chamber of a great red heart. 

His home was changing in other ways, too. Many scents mingled there in ways that pleased Hannibal's sharp senses: the woodsmoke and the charred meat from the feasts he shared with Will; the sweet scent of Will's sweat and of Hannibal's semen drying on Will's skin; and the perfume of rare and fragrant herbs hung to dry in bundles on the ropes. With these, Hannibal taught Will how to make oils and pastes to apply to the pleasure-wound he had made for himself — for both of them — inside Will's body. 

Will still tended to his hole as a gardener might tend to a rare flower: daily and with great care. He never spoke about or pined for what had been there before. And he rarely covered this new aspect of himself, wearing only an open fur cloak when the harsh ocean wind blew into the cave and threatened to blow out their lanterns and put out their hearths. “No one can see me anyway," he'd said, but perhaps his true purpose was to show off this mark Hannibal had left on him, a raw and proud reminder of their violent betrothal. 

Hannibal needed no excuses for such a lovely display. The sight of Will’s limber body, naked more often than not, filled him daily with a fiendish appetite. For since he recovered from his torments, Will seemed to grow more alluring by the day. His dark curls thickened and his pale skin glistened and his muscles grew stronger from his rope hanging efforts. By the warm light of the lanterns, the exposed entrance to his body glistened pink and red, a blossom crowning his thighs, a beacon and a lure to Hannibal's lust. Hannibal was glad to be caught. 

They made love morning and night, ever more passionate, neither of them ever sated. Sometimes Will would flee from Hannibal's clasp, panting and laughing as he scrambled up ever higher up the newly hung ladders. Hannibal would pursue him until avian agility inevitably saw him triumphant. Soon he would have his bride subdued beneath his talons, spinning Will into a snare-harness made of spare rope and there, high above, among the lanterns, they would join their disparate bodies and fuck. 

Thrusting himself deep into Will, talons pinning down those soft human limbs and his teeth scraping for a taste of Will's flesh, Hannibal dreamt of biting open in his bride new orfices of pleasure: in Will’s belly, in Will’s throat, each one as deep as the first and ready for Hannibal to fill and flood. 

Perched dozily afterwards between Will's legs, listening to Will’s soft snores and the sweet drip of his own come cascading to the cave floor below, it seemed to Hannibal that happiness and satisfaction were very near, sounding like zephyrs that might blow into the cave at any moment. 

But Hannibal was not satisfied. He would leave his sleeping bride and hunt through villages near and far for the flesh of tender lambs and petty rogues, for ripe fruits and jugs of wine. To feed Will and to please him, Hannibal would dodge the weak arrows of the humans that raged and cowered in the shadow of his wings down below. 

But there was only one thing he truly wanted to bring back to the cave, a rare and awesome feast that was his and Will’s due. 

Will had asked Hannibal to bring him the flesh of the Gods. 

Not once before Will did Hannibal venture towards the Great Mountain in hopes of taking his revenge. But whenever he approached it, thick mists would close in around him or wild storms would threaten to send him plummeting into the ocean. To the haughty, vengeful Gods that had punished them both there was no path. 

His purpose renewed through Will’s demand, Hannibal tried again and again, only to fail and narrowly avoid peril at each turn. He longed to tell Will of his efforts, but Will never again asked for his prize. 

One night, cradled in the fold of his wing and on the edge of sleep, Will murmured: "You never told me why the Gods cursed you."

Hannibal leaned down and kissed the dark curls of his sleepy bride. "When I drag the Gods down from the Great Mountain and bring them home for our supper, you can ask them yourself."

“We’ll drag them down together,” Will said and gave Hannibal a smile that enraged with its beauty. Moments later, he slept. 

\---

Weeks went by. Will's body seemed to grow fuller and softer, filling out on Hannibal's rich feasts. 

He also grew restless and distracted. He refused Hannibal’s invitations to venture outside the cave, to soar on Hannibal’s wings above the glittering ocean, to at last join Hannibal on his hunts. 

Sixty days and sixty nights after their nuptials, Will fell into a fever. 

He lay curled in the nest of furs, small and shivering and barely responding to Hannibal's gentle urging. He refused food and drank little.

Hannibal watched Will in throes of heated dreams. Anger rose inside him. That Hannibal should break the ancient curse and find his true mate after untold eons of solitude, only to have the Gods rip him away seemed to Hannibal the height of inelegant design and discourtesy. 

If Will died, Hannibal would rip apart whole villages with his teeth and talons. He would fling the bodies of priests and clerics onto fires and into the ocean. He would find the Gods and have his vengeance thrice over. Then he would fling open the gates of Hades and search its depths for Will's shade. 

But Will's sickness didn't worsen. He grew more agitated in his dreaming, writhing on the furs and moaning softly. His legs splayed and his hands strayed always down to his belly, stroking and pressing there, all the way to his hole. His hips worked wantonly and his mouth pleaded for Hannibal, who watched and felt his anger retreat. He began to understand. 

On the third day of his fever, Will opened his eyes. His cheeks were hot and coloured. His breath was as quick as his heart. Hannibal could hear it above the distant roar of the ocean below, a beckoning drum telling him everything was about to change. 

"Hannibal, please,” Will whispered. “You have to fuck me."


	5. Chapter 5

The beast in Hannibal, that greater part of him, stirred to life at Will's plea. Blood rushed to his cock and swelled it from the feathers low on his belly. He stalked closer. His shadow blanketed his restless and fevered bride.

Will's flush grew deeper. He arched off the furs onto his elbows, eyes bright and fixed on Hannibal's cock, and rubbed the heel of his palm against the slick, tender entrance to his body. His mouth parted and shaped around a word: _please_. 

Hannibal's lip curled back from his teeth. His claws scraped on cold stone. It would have been so easy to pin Will beneath his talons and give him what he needed. But reason held Hannibal fast. He knew something had changed. 

He unfurled a wing and stroked down Will's side. "How do you feel, my love?"

"Suspended," Will said through gritted teeth. "On the precipice. Like I'm moments away from climax, but I can't let go." He grasped at Hannibal's flight feathers with one hand and fingered himself helplessly with the other. "It's— it's like torture. Why won’t you fuck me? I need you in me, please—"

"And your belly?" Hannibal asked carefully, neither coming closer nor retreating. 

Something like understanding washed over Will's features. He stopped his attempts at self-pleasure and swallowed hard. "I feel— there's pressure," he said. His hand drifted up to clutch at his stomach. "Here. It feels strange. Heavy."

Hannibal's heart leapt, with giddiness or dread. 

In that space Hannibal had carved out in Will's body something had been growing, something they had made together. Hannibal did not know or dare to guess what. He peered down at the glistening pink parting of flesh between Will's thighs and licked his lips. He pictured himself prying it open with his claws, stretching it wide to scoop out the treasure inside. 

He perched at Will's side and brought his face to Will's. "I'll stay close, my bride," he murmured, caressing Will's cheek with a single feather. "I'll watch over you. But for the moment it would be best if I let you be."

"You monster," Will hissed. "You feathered beast. You're punishing me for something, aren't you? Isn't what the Gods did to me bad enough? Why aren't you helping?" He jerked away from the caress and turned away to curl on his side.

"And what if I told you I do this for your own good?" Hannibal said. "That if I penetrated you now, I might harm you?"

Will only groaned in reply. He hid his face in the furs and his hips rocked down once, then again until they were grinding in a hard, steady rhythm. All in vain — his efforts brought only more whimpers of frustration. 

By the warm glow of the cave's lanterns, Hannibal watched the beautiful shape of his naked body: the rise and ebb of his buttocks, the dewy beads of sweat gathered like jewels in the hollow spaces of his back. He remembered the taste of Will's flesh, the tight grip of Will's hole. His cock ached with want. His talons curled with unrequited lust. 

"Are you in pain?" Hannibal asked. 

"No." Will's hand snaked down between the furs and his belly. "There's something in me though, isn't there?" he said, voice smothered and face still hidden. 

Hannibal extended his foot, claws clasped together. He tugged Will gently by the hip until he had him turned and they were facing each other once more. 

"Something is inside you," Hannibal told him. "Over days and weeks it has been growing and it is now ready to join us in this world. When it comes, so will you. Believe me, Will: the ecstasy it will deliver shall be unlike any I have granted you." 

Despite the promise, Will's mouth twisted, and he looked as if he might weep. In his eyes Hannibal saw the first true glint of fear, for fear often followed understanding. 

"But what is it?" Will asked shakily. "What did you put inside me?" He moved over their sprawling bed, away from Hannibal until he had backed himself up against the wall of the cave. He drew his legs up and trembled. "I don't want to bring another creature into this world, Hannibal. Look at what the Gods did to us. We would— we would just give them another plaything to torment."

Oh, how Hannibal wanted to reach out to his bride in that moment. To reassure him with lies or with truths he did not possess. To tell him that whatever happened, together they would take on the Gods one day and set their holy world ablaze. 

"I cannot say what your belly may harbour," Hannibal said, as gently as he could. "Nor can I be certain of its fate. But of this I'm sure: inside you lies the perfect manifestation of our union. Imagine its beauty. Don’t you want to see it?”

Will shut his eyes and shivered. Another surge of want seemed to claim him. "Then help me get it out," he said and lurched forward, onto hands and knees. He crawled towards Hannibal until he was kneeling close, cheek nuzzling into the feathers on Hannibal's belly. He wrapped both hands about the length of Hannibal's cock and turned his gaze up, eyes blue as the morning ocean with lunar crescents cut underneath. 

"You could taste me, couldn't you?" Will murmured. His human hands moved over Hannibal's cock, very soft and brand hot. "It might help. You're always so gentle with your mouth."

The lust Hannibal had thus far kept in check was turning to raw hunger, the kind he used to feel daily during the years of his torment. He growled Will's name and bared his teeth. He felt his cock leak and thicken, and his feathers ruffled all along his neck. 

Will smiled sweetly and tumbled back onto the furs, legs splayed, eyelids heavy and wanton, skin creamy and flushed. Hannibal could not be sure he would not devour him whole, leaving only bones and the treasure Will carried inside him. 

"Come on, husband," Will murmured. "Lap me up. It can't do any harm."

Slowly, by inches, Hannibal hunched down low. He let his wings unfurl and scooped up Will's body into their fold. He sunk between Will's thighs. He breathed in deeply. He parted his lips for a taste.

Slick waters ran onto his tongue, thick and full of sweetness. He shuddered as he drank them down. The taste was familiar and dear to him, but darker this time, and even sweeter. He felt drunk with it in an instant, and he lapped at the folds of flesh that crowned Will's hole with beastly greed. His animal groans filled their cavernous home. 

In the cradle of Hannibal's wings, the whole of Will's body shivered and shook. He breathed in short, soft whines and pushed himself hard onto Hannibal's lashing tongue. 

"Please. More. Fuck me with your tongue. Taste me from the inside."

Hannibal needed no encouragement. He opened his mouth as he might for a kiss and pressed it over the soft wet flesh of Will's hole. His avian tongue drove in deep, unspooled its full length inside — and came against something cool and smooth. 

A startled choking sound caught in Hannibal's throat. For a moment, he retreated and paused, then strained himself back inside, until the pointed tip of his tongue traced a hard, domed shape. 

There it was, lodged in the fevered depths of Hannibal's bride. While Will moaned and writhed in his wanton fever, it nestled inside in perfect stillness, cool as marble. 

Hannibal drew back with a gasp. "Will. I felt it. It's close, my love."

Will jerked his head up and stared down at him, panting and hot-cheeked. 

"Is it— is it coming?" 

Hannibal licked at his lips and shook his head. "My tongue cannot reach it. And it does not seem inclined to abandon the confines of your body." He kissed the soft flesh of Will’s thighs. “I cannot blame it, my love. I too would sink into you forever, if I could.”

Will fell back with hands fisted in his hair and a half-whine, half-sob caught in his throat. "I'll go insane. I need— there has to be—" He bolted upright again, eyes wide and wild. He clutched at Hannibal's feathers and dragged him down for a kiss. “You could— you could push it out another way," he murmured against Hannibal's lips.

Hannibal pulled back to look at his bride. 

"Will, if you mean—"

"Go inside me. From behind."

Once more, Hannibal felt the flesh pull back from his teeth in a snarl. In their months of coupling, he had once or twice entered Will in this fashion, but only briefly and never very deeply. And though Will seemed to approve of his efforts and had even urged him on, Hannibal had thought himself too big for such a breach. 

"I will hurt you. I have before."

Will shook his head fiercely. "I can take it." He nipped at Hannibal's lips. "Fuck it out of me, husband." 

Hannibal took in a slow, steadying breath. His neglected cock was making demands of him, and Will was already touching himself with slicked up fingers, prying himself open and making space for Hannibal between his cheeks. 

"On your knees, then," Hannibal said roughly. "It will be easiest."

"No. On my back," Will hissed. "I want you to watch me. I want you to watch it come out of me." 

He gathered more slickness from the tip of Hannibal's cock and reached back into himself. Two fingers drove in to the hilt, then three, then four. 

Enough. Hannibal pushed the hand aside with his claw and lined himself up between Will's thighs. Compassion and caution were leaving him fast, driven out by pure want. 

"Legs lifted and wide,” he growled. “Hold them apart while I fuck you." 

Will let out a shaky laugh and obeyed swiftly. He fell silent. His eyes were full of fierce fire. He looked so open, so ready.

Hannibal pressed in. 

So tiny, that all too human way into Will's body, so unwelcoming next to the alluring flower of flesh Hannibal's teeth had made between Will's thighs. But it was slicked up and sweetly stretched, and though it seemed impossible, Hannibal's cock wanted to stretch it further. 

His wings swept Will closer and he pressed against that tight opening. With effort, the head slid in whole. They both cried out. Hannibal pushed in further. 

Will's head fell back. Tears of effort streamed down his temples. "Don't stop," he pleaded. "It's too much, but don't stop."

Hannibal wasn't about to stop. He dug his claws into the furs and thrust in relentlessly, inch by inch. No mercy now, no matter how much Will pleaded or how much that delicate, overused hole protested. Hannibal wanted to feel again the treasure in Will's belly and on the next push there it was again, unmistakable through the walls of Will's body. Its round oblong shape slid against the shaft of Hannibal's cock — and moved. 

Will let out a low whine and clutched at his belly. His eyes, wide with lust and fear in equal measure, locked with Hannibal's. 

"No more precipices, my love," Hannibal said. "If I move now, so will the thing inside you. We shall see what you've made for us before long. Are you ready? Are you close?" 

"I'm ready," Will whispered. "I'm close." 

"Then brace yourself."

"Hannibal—"

Hannibal paused. Underneath him, Will was trembling like a leaf. "I'm frightened," he said. 

"Close your eyes. Think of nothing but the pleasure." 

Will did. It seemed safest for Hannibal to close his eyes too. Even then, behind pinched eyelids, he felt when his vision began to give way to blinding, dazzling white. Still he thrust, lost inside Will's heat. Under the throbbing weight of his cock, he felt the treasure inside Will dislodge and travel up, towards the light. 

He heard Will's cries above his own, soaring, unbridled and long. 

Some new kind of pleasure gripped Hannibal by the belly, chest, throat. For a moment it seemed as if it would never let him go. He rode over its waves, helpless, knowing that the pleasure was not his own, and a mere echo of the ecstasy tearing at his bride. 

He tried to look. He wanted to see. Through the tunnel of his sight, he glimpsed the writhing radiance of Will's body. There, between the thighs of his bride, amidst petals of strange, new flesh, crowned the perfect shape of the thing that would change everything. 

\---

The rope-hung lanterns were the first to come back into view, like dozens of smeared stars. Then the nearby crackle of their hearth, then the sound of Hannibal's own breath. The world existed once more. 

"Will. My love."

Will did not reply. Hannibal shook off the last of his delirium and peered down at his bride.

Will's eyes were closed and his limbs lay splayed to the four winds, limp as a doll's. Utmost contentment illuminated his features and a steady breath rose in his chest, falling on a soft snore. Hannibal, stricken for a moment by the demigod-like radiance of his human bride, leaned down to kiss him. In reply, he received only a mutter of protest. Will slept.

Hannibal looked down lower. 

It lay between their bodies, framed by the arch of Will's thighs and safe in the loose nest of feathers Hannibal had shed in the heat and frenzy of coitus. Smooth as a pebble loved by the ocean and just smaller than a pomegranate, it had the uniform glow of an egg-shaped ember drawn from a divine fire. A light seemed to shift inside it, protean as Will's eyes and crimson as Hannibal's. 

Breath stalled in Hannibal's lungs. A hungry, covetous feeling flooded his heart, not unlike the one he'd had when he first laid eyes on Will. He scooped the object up with utmost care, noting how well it fit inside the cradle of his foot. He craned down and caught in his nostrils the warm sweetness of Will's body, dissipating fast to give way to a cool marine perfume. He turned it from side to side: flecks of gold shifted over the semi-translucent surface and, just below it, red fluids streamed like lazy waves of molten lava. 

Nearby, Will stirred in his slumber. He uttered a soft high noise but did not wake. 

Hannibal watched him for a moment, then lifted the egg closer. He held it very still before his eyes. The fluid within seemed to settle by degrees until Hannibal had the curious impression of peering from the mouth of a cave over the expanse of a great red ocean. 

He closed one eye and squinted through the opaque surface, as if peering through a tube of magnifying glass, like the one he'd once stolen from a ship's captain. He shook the egg ever so gently, looked in again — and saw wonders.

There, inside, the gold flecks swirled and coalesced to form a ribbon. The ribbon twisted high above the ocean and then tore ahead like an arrow, into the egg's murky depths. Entranced and uncertain, Hannibal watched its progress. The dark depths of the egg turned into tiny storms but, with another shake of Hannibal's talon, the golden ribbon found its way through them. The view over the ocean within cleared to reveal, in miniature, the unmistakable shape of the Great Mountain of the Gods. 

The ribbon swirled and twirled toward the mountain summit, sure and unstoppable. It knew the way. 

Joy rarely followed understanding, but Hannibal's heart swelled in that moment with vengeful and triumphant joy. 

"Will. Wake up, my love."

Will stirred. When the veil of sleep lifted and his eyes focused on the scene before him, his face filled at once with pleasure and wonder. He sat up and reached out to touch the object nestled in Hannibal's talon. He brushed it tenderly with his fingertips, as if to be sure it were real. 

"It's beautiful," he said quietly. He hesitated, as if he feared the question that was sure to follow. "But— what is it?"

Hannibal found he could not bring his voice above a solemn whisper. "Look closer," he said.

Will drew up to his knees. His face bore the expression of utmost reverence and concentration, a small furrow between his brows. He cupped his hands together and extended them out, as for an offering. 

Hannibal placed the treasure in Will's palms. He could not shake the sense that something sacred was taking place between them. 

Will peered down and in. 

"Shake it, Will. Very gently."

Will did. A long moment of silence stretched, and then Hannibal heard a tell-tale gasp. Will peered up, eyes full of awe and reflecting the gold of the ribbon caught inside the egg — the ribbon that would show them the way. 

"It's a map, isn't it?" Will whispered. 

Hannibal inclined his head — as much a nod of agreement as a bow to his dearest and most miraculous bride. 

"A map to the Gods."

Will drew the egg into the cradle of his arms. A savage and blasphemous grin spread his lovely mouth. His white teeth glinted in the low light of the lanterns.

"It will show us the way," he said.

Hannibal mirrored his smile. There was a beast inside Will, too — Hannibal had always known it. 

"It will, my love. We will find them. We will tear them apart. And we will taste their flesh after all."


End file.
